


Sansa-ra

by RainStormRaider



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, Gen, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:47:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainStormRaider/pseuds/RainStormRaider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: “Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansara

 

 

 

 

~

Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil;

And I shall sleep without the dream

Of what I was, and would be still,

Dark as to thee my deeds may seem:

My memory now is but the tomb

Of joys long dead; my hope, their doom:

Though better to have died with those

Than bear a life of lingering woes.

**_-   The Giaour, Lord Byron_ **

 

* * *

 

Sansa lies alone, in the barren wasteland beyond the Frostfangs that they call the Land of Always Winter, with blood gurgling up her throat. The sky is dark and there are no stars. She watches the wind swirl the snowflakes above her as the crimson strands of her hair float just out of reach. She feels the taste of copper on her tongue and the icy tendrils of darkness creep through her limbs. She holds her breath and waits.

There is no brother coming to save his sister, no knight coming to claim a maiden fair, no prince raising armies to fight for a princess, no King riding a dragon beyond the Wall to rescue his Queen.

Even as the wind howls, Sansa hears them in the distance. He moves like water over ice, gliding slowly toward her and she stills. When he leans down and stares into her soul with his inhuman eyes, all she sees is blue.

Sansa exhales.

 

* * *

 

“My compliments to you, Lady Stark.”

“Thank you, Lord Hand, but I had very little to do with all this.” Sansa gestures with her wine cup at the royal wedding feast below them.

“Please, call me Tyrion, after all, you were a Lannister once.”

“It’s been a long winter, I’d forgotten all about that life.”

“Yes, you’ve lived many lives since then.”

“I’m assured you meant no offence, but ‘lives’ is not how I would term my continued existence, my Lord.”

“My apologies, Lady Stark. Winter really does beckon the time of the wolves.”

“Is that why you’re out here with me, rather than down there partaking in the festivities?”

“I wanted to congratulate you on winning.”

“You think I am the victor here?”

“There is no reason, Sweet Sansa, for House Wolfyre to stand otherwise.”

“I think you and your Mother of Dragons had more to do with that, than I, Lord Hand. I am but a simple Stark of Winterfell.”

“Always so modest, dear Sansa, you are the very image of the Maiden.”

Sansa raises her cup in response. After she’s emptied its honeyed contents she continues, “What is it you want, Tyrion?”

“I have never known anyone who bested Littlefinger at his own game to be ever so blunt.”

“The hour is late and there is still much revelry left for you to enjoy, Lord Hand. I do not wish to keep you from it.”

“Ah, well, you are as sensitive to the needs of others as you have ever been. However, I could not fail to notice that you looked distinctly unhappy this morning.”

“Did I now?”

“It must not be easy watching the man you love marry Daenerys Stormborn.”

“The man that I love? Whatever are you implying, Lord Hand?” Sansa doesn’t turn to look at him, even though that’s what he must want, she’s become adept at denying small courtesies when she can.

“It is common knowledge that you refused the offer from the Tyrells because you are in love with your brother.”

“Cousin.” Sansa bites out the word like bitter poison.

“My apologies, cousin.”

“That’s King to you, Lord Hand.”

“Yes, of course. So tell me Sweet Sansa, are you in love with him?”

Sansa looks back across the terrace to the fading light on the horizon. The sea churns and silvers like coins strewn beneath flickering candlelight.  “Do you remember when we were negotiating the price of peace and how you made the same claim then, my Lord?”

“Yes, and you have yet to address it.”

“I did have an answer then, you chose not to acknowledge it.”

“You’re not very good at hiding your emotions, Lady Sansa.”

“And you, Lord Tyrion, put too much stock in rumours and your own counsel.”

“Ah, my apologies, any offense you may construe is your due.”

“No my Lord, I have overindulged I fear, I am moreso in the cups than a lady should be, please excuse my behaviour.”

“Of course. However, to avoid any notion of impropriety here on my behalf, I fear I must leave you to your solitary contemplation.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” She smiles at him, and she knows he can see that it is insincere, they could’ve been friends once, but that time died with the end of the winter and the twisting of allegiances until everything they are, is nothing like what they once believed.

Sansa waits for the twilight to descend into night. The wineskin is emptied quickly and renders the cup useless as it clatters onto the low stone wall in front of her. She listens to the darkness with her eyes closed and thinks of those days of innocence, when being here at King’s Landing had seemed like some far away dream. When she finally hears the low growl over the wind, she grins. The footsteps are light but familiar now, and she stills, wiping the nervousness off her hands and onto her dress.

“Lady Sansa?”

“Here.” She responds quietly, there is no one else, but their conversation must not be overheard. “Is it done, then?”

“Yes.” She can hear the hesitation clearly and knows she must not linger.

“Thank you, Osha.”

“Little Wolf will not be happy with this.” Osha is nothing if not a dedicated caretaker, she has always been good to Rickon.

“It’s not for you to worry about that now, Arya will appease him. Just ensure that he makes it back to Winterfell, safe in body and sound of mind.” Sansa briefly curls her fingers into Shaggydog’s fur.

“I will get him home.”

She reaches out to the wildling woman, takes her hands into her own and looks into those dark eyes. She can tell Osha is taken aback by her forwardness, Sansa has never been anything but proper and distant since the day Osha brought Rickon back to Winterfell. “I will not forget this kindness, Osha, you can be assured. This letter, here, get this to Arya on the morrow and she will ensure that whatever your heart desires is your wish fulfilled.” Sansa tugs the roll out from between the laces of her dress; she is nothing if not always prepared.

Osha looks over the parchment with curiosity and up at Sansa with confusion. “You will not greet them yourself?”

“I am bound to a terrible purpose, Osha. Better to fade away into the night than to face the light of day.” Shaggydog, as if sensing her melancholy, licks at her hands, and Sansa smiles fondly down at the feral beast Rickon calls brother.

“I see.”

When Shaggydog and Osha take their leave, Sansa sighs in relief. Now her fate is sealed. No bard will ever write songs of her that no tenor will ever sing. For Sansa knows she shall wear no crowns and win no glory.  And Sansa, who has lived her whole life on the whims of others, smiles truly, at last. For tonight she will leave everything that she has ever known behind and follow her dreams north. As she stands there looking out across the sea to where her future awaits, she remembers the words from some old song she once heard, “I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 


	2. Blood Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of the Sansa-ra.  
> What becomes of those who time forgets is only known to those who ever cared for them.

 

 

 

~

On a mountain of skulls in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood.

What was, will be.

What is, will be no more.

Now is the season of evil.

**\- Ghostbusters II**

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they find the First Ranger he looks more wight than man. He’s stumbling toward them, limping slowly and he’s caked in frost and old blood. Tyrion thinks its Ned Stark and his first instinct is to find a bow and hurl a fiery arrow into the ghost’s dead heart. The Lord Commander has other ideas. They draw nearer and under the pregnant moon they can see the hard plains and shadowed edges of Benjen Stark’s ravaged face clearly, but above all else, his eyes are Stark grey and that is all the reassurance they need.

He collapses in the circle they’ve made around him and calls go out for the Maester. Tyrion is the first to notice the eggs that tumble out from under his threadbare cloak. Dragon eggs the size of ripe Reach melons. At the touch, Tyrion’s fingers burn and numb, his skin tears at the icy scales that are sharp as thorns and cover these ethereal stones. He’s never seen anything so beautiful. So distracted is he by the sight, that he doesn’t hear the whisper at first, and then he freezes.

Clear eyes reflect the moonlight and stare into his own and the word carries on the winter wind.

“Sansa.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

“Why didn’t she have Littlefinger executed?” Littlefinger had been responsible for Eddard Stark’s downfall and instead of being headless; he still rots in a black cell in the Red Keep. “Was it because of Lady Stark?” The way Aegon’s eyes flash when he speaks reminds Tyrion instinctively of the Mother of Dragons and their last conversation. It hadn’t been very pretty and Tyrion would much rather prefer standing in silence and staring out at the lands beyond the Wall to the Haunted Forest and the dead trees prostrate beneath them; cut-down after The Breach, than continue this discussion.

“Lady Sansa is long since dead, my Prince.” Tyrion cannot keep from rolling his eyes at the Crown Prince; the boy needs to start asking cleverer question.

“And yet, Littlefinger still lives.”

“The Queen believes he is more useful alive than dead.” Tyrion doesn’t share the same opinion as Her Grace, but that’s not really of any consequence now, the decision was made a long time ago and he’s no longer attempting to understand it.

“Of what use can a man without an army, a keep, or a family be?”

“I assume it’s because he is still influential in the Vale.”

“The Vale raised their banners for Jon, Baelish is better off dead.”

“Why is this of concern to you, my Prince?” 

“The First Ranger returns from beyond the Wall, long after the Winter War is won and he speaks of a woman who’s been dead for far too many name-days, and claims she still lives in the Lands of Always Winter. Before my Aunt sent us here, I visited Baelish in the black cells; he was frothing at the mouth, screaming that we were all fools, led by a conniving woman’s cunt, with no understanding of the game she was playing.”

“And you think he meant Sansa? Why in the name of the old gods and the new were you visiting him?” Tyrion tries to mask his incredulity as best as he can manage.

“Because of Varys.”

“What did our esteemed Master of Whispers say to convince you to visit Littlefinger?” Fucking Varys, Tyrion thinks, he’ll be the death of us all.

“He didn’t suggest it, but he said something once, in passing of course. He said out of all who survived the wars, Sansa Stark’s luck it seemed, only ran out once she left Westeros. It made me question why she chose to leave at all.”

“So you thought Baelish would tell you? How would he know? Sansa Stark departed for Essos because she was in love with a man she could never hope to marry. She died of a broken heart somewhere in Braavos as I recall.”

“That is what the Bastard of Driftmark claimed, and now Benjen Stark disagrees, most vehemently, if I recall correctly.”

Tyrion winces in remembrance, when they’d cast their doubts at the First Ranger’s claims, even abed, Benjen Stark had enough strength to grab Tyrion by the collar and shake him into incoherence. It took the combined force of the King, Arya Stark and the Maester to get the crazy old fool off him. “And you believe him?”

“You don’t, Lord Hand? Even after the dragon eggs he brought back with him?”

“Lady Stoneheart may still haunt the lands beyond the Wall, he may have been confused. After all, the First Ranger doesn’t look like he’s in control of all of his faculties at the moment, does he? The Maester had to pour quite a few drops of the milk of the poppy down his throat. And he never explained the eggs.”

“Not yet, but once he awakes, I’m assured it will be quite a fascinating account.”

“Yes, why not. It’s not enough that at every turn we are confronted with one extraordinary story after another.” The wind picks up, masking his tone of derision Tyrion hopes; it’s still cold up here, winter embraces the Wall like a desperate lover. They stand in silence until what’s left of his nose is ready to fall off. It troubles him though, why did Varys show such an interest in just another dead Stark and why to Aegon? So Tyrion turns back to the Crown Prince, and he is struck by how even the weak grey light visible behind the clouds glints through Aegon’s silver hair like Valyrian steel. “The stories I’ve heard of Lady Stark at the Vale didn’t exactly paint a picture of a maiden fair or the caged little bird I once wed. Sansa Stark even while disowned and disavowed, wearing a bastard name and having nothing about her but her own wits, rallied the North, the Riverlands and the Vale behind Jon; they say she won him his crown.”

“And you don’t think these tales are true?” Aegon turns away from the breathtaking sight and toward Tyrion.

“I knew her enough to believe what they said of her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wanted the King to pardon my brother Jaime, both Her Grace and yourself were well against it. And now the Westerlands are in strife, dead Houses rising against liege lords and House Lannister without anyone to lead them because they will not accept a kinslayer. If Jaime hadn’t died on the way to the Wall, if he had lived, the Westerlands would’ve declared for him.”

“You’re saying she was trying to avert a rebellion?”

“I’m asking you why Varys pointed you in her direction, especially when she’s quite dead.”

“Maybe he knew she yet lived?”

“His little birds are nowhere near the Wall, how could he have known?”

“On our way to King’s Landing chasing away the last remnants of the Winter War, we ended up at Harrenhal, and a wood witch made her way into our encampment. She’d heard of the dragons and wished to see them. Arya Stark was with us; and when the witch saw her, she started ranting. I think I remember her words clearly because of how disturbing they were. She said the old gods bid her come to what she claimed was an accursed place, to welcome the flesh made fire back to the realm. I assumed she meant Viserion and Rhageal. And then she began to wave her arms at the Stark girl and screamed, ‘And you, you are here and where is she? The Maid of the Blood-Moon? The one with her heart on fire, and you with the blood of ice. You are death where she is life, yet you will live while she will die.’ The wolf-girl brushed the strange woman off and Jon had her banished from our sight, but those words stayed with me. Arya Stark’s reputation was quite renown, it was easy to decipher what the dark creature meant. She could have only been speaking of Sansa Stark. Maybe I ama fool, I fancied myself a bit in love with Lyanna Stark reborn, so I watched the way the Stark girl was affected by the words even if she hid it well.”

“So you think Sansa Stark is beyond the Wall and Arya Stark must go to save her sister?”

“No, not that, but I do think the wood witch prophesied Sansa Stark’s death and that the wolf-girl believed it.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Tyrion is a little confused by the way Aegon is speaking, it makes his frustration apparent in his response to the Crown Prince.

“I dreamt last night of her, of the last time I laid eyes on this Maid of the Blood-Moon. I dreamt of her standing at the Moon Door of the Eyrie, with blood tears flowing down her beautiful face. She held a dragon egg in her hands and then took a step back into the sky and fell.”

“Sounds most portentous.”

“I could be wrong, maybe it was the First Ranger's claims that made me think of her, but it wasn’t a good dream, I awoke in a sweat and I immediately recalled Baelish’s bitter words.”

Before Tyrion can respond, a Black Brother is by their side announcing that Benjen Stark is awake and apparently lucid. The King has requested their presence and so they make their way down, Tyrion thinks he finds Castle Black less enticing every time he is within it. He shivers as the wind passes through his cloak. If not for the Wall and the wild and dangerous beauty visible beyond it, he would never come here of his own free will. He is glad that the dragons came with them, even with the Winter War won the icy tendrils of darkness that still haunt the lands beyond can be felt here. The dragons, with their warmth are a reminder that the realm of the living goes on. But if the return of the First Ranger makes one thing clear, it is this; no matter how many Starks live or die on the Wall, it seems that the realm will always demand at least one more sacrifice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sansara means reincarnation throughout the wheel of life.  
> This story doesn't seem to end, its just another beginning.


End file.
